


The First And Last Shadow War

by your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author/pseuds/your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author
Summary: After a face off with the DeSpell siblings Donald is sent forward in time to a hellish landscape.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Donald Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Lena (Disney: DuckTales) & Webby Vanderquack, Louie Duck/Webby Vanderquack
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	The First And Last Shadow War

Donald always had the worst luck imaginable, especially on his birthday. It was like the universe was punishing him for even being born. With every year it seemed that his birthday celebrations got worse, burnt cakes, burning cakes, exploding cakes, were all occurrences that were common on birthdays past.

So Donald really should have been more suspicious when this one was going so well.

He and Della had just turned twenty-two, and they were at the manor celebrating. Duckworth had just put the cake in front of them, it was single layer, pink frosting adorned the entire dessert.

“I made it myself.” Scrooge bragged, puffing out his chest.

“If by ‘made it myself’ you mean stood there, and watched as I made it.” Duckworth said dryly.

Donald and Della snickered at the comment, only to be reprimanded by their uncle.

“Oh, be quiet, all three of you.” Scrooge commanded, still smiling

“Alright you two, smile for the camera. Now on three.” Scrooge said, holding up a camera.

“1, 2, 3”

Donald never saw it coming. One second, he was smiling next to his sister, the next his head was plummeting toward the table, and straight into the cake.

There was pink frosting all over the bottom of his beak, and he rose from his place stuck in the cake. If Della thought she could get away with this, she was dead wrong. A plan quickly formed in Donald’s mind and he smirked. This’ll show her. He turned and glowered at his sister who was still laughing. 

“Seriously!?” he demanded, glaring at his sister.

“Oh come on Donnie, you gotta admit that was pretty funny.” Della said, still catching her breath.

“No, it really wasn’t. Was I just having too much of a good day for you, so you just had to go along and ruin it. Didn’t you?” Donald demanded, his hand subtly finding its way to the plate with the smashed cake on it.

“No, that’s not what I was trying t-” Della said, quickly backtracking

“Oh save it Della, don’t try to make up excuses.” Donald said with a huff.

His hand was ready now, filled with cake, waiting for the ideal moment.

Della stepped forward, “Donald, I’m sorry, I just thought-” 

Her sentence was suddenly cut short by Donald flinging his handful of cake right onto her face.

For a solid second, his sister just stood there, dumbfounded, pink icing dripping off her face, and Donald couldn’t hold it in any longer. He started to laugh, and it didn’t take Della long to recover after that.

“YOU TRAITOR! I’m going to get you for that one.” Della swore, reaching for the mostly destroyed cake, and throwing another handful at him.

Donald ducked, and took up a defensive position on the other side of the table, before retaliating with his own cake projectile. Della blocked the cake with another plate that she grabbed off of the table. 

Don saw his chance, and grabbed the plate with the cake off of the table. He then rapid fire, threw sugary missiles at his now retreating sister. A few collided with her, but the last one, instead of hitting its intended target, hit the hat off of one scottish billionaire.

“DELLA! DONALD! ENOUGH!” his scottish voice rang out, and he motioned for them to gather in front of him.

Donald’s beak was still covered in frosting, as was Della’s whole face, her eyes being the only part not completely stained pink.

The three glared at each other. Twins glowering at one another, and their uncle shooting daggers at both of them.

It was Scrooge who broke first.

“Bwa-ha-ha-ha, you kids are going to be the death of me.” Scrooge laughed, wiping away tears.

Della and Donald followed immediately after, breaking into hysterical laughter. 

“Dumbella.” Donald insulted jokingly, smiling wide.

“Dork-ald” she responded, her grin matching his own.

They bumped fists.

It was one of the best birthdays Donald has had in a decade. Well it was, until they showed up.

“By the way,” Della said nervously, clearing her throat. “I need to tell you two something. I-”

Suddenly, a plume of dark purple smoke filled the room, and from it emerged two ducks. They were tall, and both sported sickly green feathers. 

The De Spell siblings.

Magica and Poe both were wearing their usual attire. Magica in her black dress, holding aloft her staff, the pink stone glowing, and Poe in a black trench coat, and black short-brimmed fedora, his hands glowing a menacing red.

“Scrooge McDuck!” They announced in unison

“We have come for the dime.” Poe said, voice deep and menacing.

Poe and Magica De Spell had been a thorn in the McDuck-Duck family as long as Donald could remember. They had always been after his uncle’s lucky dime in order to create curses on a level that had never before seen by this world. And they had gone to extreme, at times ludicrous lengths to get their hands on it.

Like that time they had found an exoctic bird to break the ‘indestructable’ glass around the money bin.

Or when they had conjured a cloud that materialized their greatest fears.

And Donald’s personal favorite, when Magica disguised herself as a sixteen year old, and started to date his cousin Gladstone. Donald would like to say he didn’t laugh when the goth teen had revealed herself as Magica, especially at the look on his cousin’s face, but then he would be a liar.

Still, Donald drew the line at them breaking into his home on his birthday. 

“You ninnies really don’t know when to give up, do you?” his uncle asked, leaping to his feet, and brandishing his cane.

“Y’know Uncle Scrooge, you really need some better material. ‘Ninnies’ really?” Donald asked mockingly, but he was secretly worried, he didn't have his sword, they weren’t prepared for any of this. How did the De Spells even get in? The mansion was supposed to be magic-proof, and Magica-proof. 

So he broke off the coffee table leg, and brandished it like a baseball bat.

“Lad, that table was fifty dollars!” Scrooge cried out, angry.

“I’ll pay you back, you old miser, just wait until we’re out of danger!” Donald yelled back, his uncle had the absolute worst priorities.

“Oh you will be out of danger… when you’re dead!” Poe said lamely.

“Ouch, that was so lame it physically hurt me, I see why Magica does the talking.” Della said, 

“Silence, now Scrooge, give us the dime and we won’t have to hurt any of your precious family.” Magica said, her pink staff glowing threateningly.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about hurting us-” Della said, wielding her own table leg.

“Be worried about us hurting you!” Donald finished, and with one wink to his twin as a signal, they charged the De Spells, each brandishing a table leg.

Donald went for Poe, he wasn’t as smart as his sister, but he had more raw magical power, and didn’t rely as heavily on relics as Magica. In theory he should be easier to beat. In reality he was more dangerous than his sister. Still, no magical being was immune to being beaten senseless, and beating people senseless was Donald’s specialty. He cracked the leg over Poe’s head, splintering the wood. But Poe quickly recovered, shooting a blast of red energy at Donald, knocking him backwards onto the couch, tipping the entire piece of furniture over. 

Donald felt the anger rise in his chest, and made no move to repress it, he watched as his vision turned into a red haze, fixated on two people.

He roared, and jumped up from behind the couch, rushing the magic wielders. Della and Scrooge were struggling against the two, and Donald grabbed the table leg off of the ground as he ran toward his two enemies. 

He beat them mercilessly, taking turns hitting the tall ducks on their heads, faces, limbs, whatever he could reach, moving so fast around them that every spell the pair fired off missed. He went for a particularly brutal blow over Magica’s head and broke the table leg in two, while she fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Stop, Duck!” Poe commanded, seizing Donald by a magical red energy and holding him still. Donald was still furious, and he struggled against the magic, belting out every curse he knew it coming out as garbled nonsense to the untrained ear, due to his speech impediment. But he shut up fairly quickly, when Poe drew out a long silver dagger and held it to his throat. 

“Stay back!” Poe demanded of Scrooge and Della, “Unless you want to see the contents of his throat staining the floor. Now, Scrooge, how about I give you some motivation, eh?” Suddenly Donald felt an agonizing pain spread throughout his whole body. The red glow dropped him to the floor, and he writhed in agony, it felt as if they had set fire to all of his bones, while coursing electricity through him.

“This can end Scrooge, if you give me the dime.” Poe issued his ultimatum, outstretching his hand

“Don’t do it Scrooge. Don’t give it to them.” Donald gasped out, pleading, if they had the dime, they could wreck the worst kind of havoc.

“I’m sorry lad, I really am.” Scrooge said, taking the dime off of his neck.

No, Donald couldn’t let this happen, he fought through the pain, and looked around, the dagger lay on the ground forgotten, as was he, the De Spell’s eyes on the dime. He reached out, and managed to grab the dagger, and in a burst of adrenaline, shot his arm up, and embedded it into Poe’s stomach, but it was too late, he had the dime.

“Magica.” Poe called out, holding the dime in one hand, and reaching out to his sister, and flicking his wrist.

She stood up shakily, and Donald went to stab her too, but she slammed down her staff, sending him sliding back, and Scrooge and Della flying. She held out her hand to Poe, who took it weakly. The blood gushing from his abdomen stopped, as Magica’s hand glowed pink. 

Poe stood, and the dark brother held out his hand containing the dime to the shadowy sister. She took it, and an unearthly wind filled the room, as power coursed through their veins. Their eyes became a pure black, streams of black magic contorted through the air like tentacles, reaching out from the two. The tendrils folded in on themselves, collapsing and forming into a small black orb, where their hands met. It pulsed twice, sending out forces like a hurricane, before exploding in a plume of midnight black smoke.

Suddenly, Donald found himself in a vortex of purple smoke, lightning clashed around him, as he was lifted off the ground and thrown around.

But, just as fast as it appeared, the vortex subsided, leaving Donald back on the floor, but something felt off, it was colder than before and a chilling gale blew through the manor, but that shouldn’t be possible, it was the middle of summer. He got to his feet, well stumbled really, that magical torture wasn’t good on his muscles, or any of him really.

He blearily opened his eyes, and found the manor in absolute shambles, the roof was mainly missing, and so were the walls, everything was discolored, even the wooden floors that were pristine but a moment ago, were now rotten. The portraits on the walls were either ragged, or completely missing, only the frames partially intact. The familiar paint on the walls was discolored, chipped and worn. 

He checked every room, but they were all the same, utterly destroyed and decaying, with no sign of his uncle or sister.

“Scrooge?! Della?!” he called out, hoping beyond hope that someone would answer him.

And someone did, but it wasn’t exactly who he was looking for.

No, instead of Scrooge or Della, in came a flood of dark, spectral beings. They flew through the air effortlessly, and had glowing red eyes. Their entire being and gestures were filled with malice, Donald immediately knew he had a battle on his hands.

“What the hell?” Donald swore aloud as the shades circled him, their eyes flashing menacingly. They drew in, the darkness surrounding him. He growled at the approaching enemies daring them to get closer. They drew in and the one behind Donald grabbed his arms unexpectedly. Donald lashed out, breaking out of the shadow’s hold, and punching it square in the face, making it dissipate into tiny tendrils of darkness.

So the shadows could be taken out that easily huh? This would be a cakewalk. He turned, and grabbed one of the shadows by the wispy tendrils it had instead of legs, and swung it in a massive circle taking out the nearest shadows, and then sending it toward the ground, where it disappeared. He lost himself to the roar of battle and familiar rage. Simply letting his arms and body fly, only barely registering the dozens of shadows falling at his strikes. 

It only seemed like a second later, that he was standing in the middle of what used to be his living room. The overwhelming stillness and silence once again taking over his senses as the manor was quiet once more. But then, there was a small sound, a tinny whirring coming from directly behind him. He turned, and sent a fist right at the assailant. They fell backwards, but they weren’t a shade, no instead it was a plain duck. Dressed in a neck to toe black, undoubtedly kevlar combat suit and sporting a pair of glowing red goggles that obscured half their face. They stumbled to their feet, and the two stood, waiting for the other to make the next move. The goggle wearing duck, lifted their hands up, in a placating gesture showing that they had no weapons, before reaching up to their goggles. Donald steeled himself, ready for anything, but the duck just pulled the goggles off their head, and Donald got a good look at his would be attacker. 

“What the hell man? Whose side are you on?” it was a woman, her slightly shrill voice ringing out and echoing about the manor. She looked normal enough, in her mid twenties if Donald were to guess, white, unevenly cut, shoulder-length hair falling over her slightly battered beak, and barely concealing her piercing blue irises. It was clear he had seen more than her fair share of battle, her left eye was swollen and blue from a massive shiner, there were small portions of her feathers stained red from dried blood and if Donald squinted he could make out the small outline of a bandage wrapped around her forehead. 

“Where am I?” Donald demanded, he had to figure out what happened to the manor, and maybe then he could find Scrooge and Della. 

“Where do you think? McDuck Manor, at least, what’s left of it.” the female duck responded,

“What happened to it?” he asked looking around, and she gave him a look of pure, unaltered surprise.

“Are you joking? There is no way you don’t already know.” she looked at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised. “Y’know, the eruptions, the assault on Duckburg, the Invasion, none of that ringing a bell?”

“Listen lady, one second I was with my sister and uncle, and the next I’m here, and the whole place is in ruins and overrun with whatever those things were. I don’t even know how I got here.” he explained exasperatedly, and the woman looked contemplative for a moment, almost as if she was seeing through him.

“Those shadows must have gotten you bad.” she stated it as fact, sympathy written all over her features. “Well any person who ticked off the Queen enough to have their mind erased is a friend of ours. Anyhow, in that case, welcome to the apocalypse man. My name’s Webby. Webby Vanderquack.”


End file.
